


a kind of peace that might even last

by SeptemberSky



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Asexual Daud (Dishonored), Canon-Typical Violence, Delilah? What Delilah?, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), Unreliable Narrator, except burrows but lets be honest no one will miss him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 21:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptemberSky/pseuds/SeptemberSky
Summary: “Is thatLord Henshaw?”is probably a wildly inappropriate question, but it slips out anyway.“It was,” the Knife says, and his voice is low and rasping. He’s softer-spoken that Jess would’ve guessed. He also sounds mildly panicked.An accidental meeting between the Empress and the Knife of Dunwall, and the way that nothing goes according to anyone's plan.





	a kind of peace that might even last

**Author's Note:**

> oh, i'll just write this au real quick, i said  
it'll only be about 5k words, i said 
> 
> many many thanks to Jumblebumps and Bid for looking over this and encouraging me, you're the best <3
> 
> and it has zero bearing on the plot, but i want everyone to know that Fisher looks like Gwendoline Christie

Dunwall, 1829

“…and if anyone ever dares harm the Empress, he’ll have to answer to _ me,” _ Lord Shadwell says, glaring at Daud from under impressively bushy eyebrows. His moustache bristles. 

Daud does his best to not look bored. It’s been the same thing for a quarter of an hour now, nonstop, nothing but how great and wonderful Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, First of Her Name is, and— oh. Shadwell must be trying to threaten him. He doesn’t have to, Daud doesn’t particularly want to kill the Empress. As monarchs go, she’s not half bad. He’s not stupid enough to try going after her either, she’s the most-protected woman in the Isles and he’s _ seen _her bodyguard, all nearly six and a half scowling feet of him. 

Daud likes all his bits where they are, thank you very much, he won’t be taking anything with the Empress’s name on it. He’s not an idiot. 

“Of course, sir,” he says, because Shadwell is nearly eighty and likes everything to be just so, and he needs to at least look polite just a little while longer. Then he can take his money and leave.

“So, can you do it?” Shadwell asks, with a bright and hopeful glint in his eye. 

“Yes, sir.” He doesn’t prefer to work at parties, but it should be easy enough to make the death look like an accident. “Half the payment now, please, and the other half on completion.” 

“Very reasonable, very reasonable.” Shadwell pulls out a wad of banknotes, carefully counts them out, and hands them to Daud. “I’ll put the rest in the south drawing room window as soon as I hear he’s dead. One of your people can collect it, yes?”

* * *

Alone in the second floor hallway of the Pendleton’s estate, Jessamine lets her shoulders slump and sighs. 

It’s not that she _ dislikes _parties. They can be lovely, especially garden parties, but between socializing and Corvo hovering the way he has to, sometimes she needs a few minutes to herself to just breathe. Corvo knows where she is, anyway, and if she isn’t back in around ten minutes he’ll come looking for her. He’s a dear, he understands. 

And all of the Pendleton brothers are equally horrible in different ways, so perhaps if she gets away from them now, she won’t want to strangle them quite so badly when she goes back. It’s worth a try, at least. Corvo understands that, too. 

But the upper floor is mercifully quiet and cool after the noise and crowd downstairs and in the garden, so she’s going to enjoy it while she can and not dwell on irritations, especially ones named Morgan, Custis, and Treavor. She would most like to get back home to Emily, who’s probably pitching an absolute fit at being deprived of Mama for three hours. Pendleton parties do tend to drag on, but perhaps she could make a graceful exit closer to the evening? Emily _ is _ only two, she can hardly be expected to last all day with just her governess. _ Surely _she can escape. 

She starts walking, trying to loosen out of her Empress posture. A lap or two through the hall will do her good, then she can go back down and pretend to enjoy herself. 

She rounds the corner and gets a look at the drunken mess the garden is turning into. Custis has, unsurprisingly, surrounded himself with a knot of fawning women while Treavor casts him hateful looks from his perch on the fountain’s edge, and Esma Boyle looks like she’s trying to seduce someone. She catches a glimpse of a couple off in the bushes and is glad she can’t see them any better. 

She sighs. 

Just as she turns away from the window, she hears some glass thing shatter. 

What in the Void?

She shouldn’t go looking. She should turn around and find Corvo and go join the party again. It’s probably nothing anyway, just a cat or a maid knocking something over. 

There’s a thump. 

She shouldn’t look. She shouldn’t. 

But _ should _ has never done much to stop her. 

She eases closer to the sound, careful to keep her ridiculous heeled shoes from making noise on the wood floor. There’s another thump, a grunt, and a gasp. It’s certainly not another pair enjoying one another, it sounds more like someone’s in there having a stroke— and her thoughts are interrupted by what sounds terribly like a grown person falling in the floor. 

She stands outside the room this all happened in, her hand over the knob, trying to decide what to do. 

But it seems someone is in distress in there. She ought to help them if she can. 

Before she can lose her nerve, she flings the door open. 

In the room (it’s a bedroom, and some small part of her wonders which Pendleton it belongs to) there is a man in a red coat, shorter than Corvo but still tall, standing over a body on the floor. He’s facing away from her and his shoulders— _ broad _ shoulders, Void, he’s built like a bull ox— heave as he breathes deeply. Blood drips from the tip of his knife. 

Jess can’t help it. She squeaks from a combination of surprise and fear. 

The man whips around to face her, knife raised, left hand lighting blue through his glove, and oh no, oh stars, oh Void, that’s the _ Knife of Dunwall, _it can’t be anyone else. 

Jess doesn’t scream. Part of her would like to but she can’t, her throat’s locked up tight around the sound, and it wouldn’t do her any good, anyway. Corvo would come running only to find her dying there on the carpet, the Knife long gone thanks to whatever heretic magic he possesses. 

The Knife startles violently, the color draining from his face, and they just stare at each other for a few long moments. He’s striking, Jess thinks, harsh features only accentuated by the way he has his hair slicked severely back. There’s a scar running down his face and neck that disappears into his collar, only just missing his eye, and she wonders how he survived whatever incident gave it to him. He still seems oddly frozen, so she risks a glance down at the body on the floor. 

“Is that _ Lord Henshaw?” _ is probably a wildly inappropriate question, but it slips out anyway. 

“It was,” the Knife says, and his voice is low and rasping. He’s softer-spoken that Jess would’ve guessed. He also sounds mildly panicked. 

“I suppose thanks are in order, then.” She has to swallow a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter because she’s talking to the Knife of Dunwall, just _talking _like he’s anyone else. “You’ve just made my life rather easier.” 

“Thank Lord Shadwell.” The Knife, at least, seems to be having a line of thought roughly similar to hers, if his stiff posture and wide eyes are any indication. That nugget of information is surprising though, Humphrey always gave her the impression that he would be the kind to carry a spider outside in a cup, rather than crush it. 

Perhaps ordering a death is different from carrying it out oneself, even if the death in question is as small as a spider’s. 

Outside, light, purposeful footsteps come tapping closer, and Jess has an idea. It’s probably a bad idea. Corvo certainly wouldn’t approve. But the Knife hasn’t made a move to kill her yet even though she’s a witness to his crime, and already she can see how infinitely useful he could be as a source of information. She decisively turns, closes and locks the door, and steps closer to him to grip his collar and pull him down to her level. Interestingly, he doesn’t resist. 

“Listen to me,” she hisses. “You will come to the Tower two weeks from today, in the afternoon. Find my office. Do _ not _be caught.” 

He gives her a strange look, and she feels his pulse hammering against her fingers. “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“Good. Now go.” She releases him and moves to leave herself, but is stopped by his hand dropping heavy onto her shoulder. She turns her head to ask just _ what _he thinks he’s doing and has to muffle another squeak because his eyes have gone inky, eerie black. 

“Wait,” he breathes. “There’s a maid, dusting.” 

And sure enough, not long after that Jess can hear footsteps fading away. The Knife moves his hand, and she hurries back downstairs. 

It isn’t long before Lord Henshaw is found. That puts quite a damper on the party, the Pendletons having to announce that everyone must speak to the City Watch and then go home, as part of their own is a crime scene. She and Corvo are among the first pulled aside and asked if they saw anything suspicious, the officer knowing better than to try and separate them as Corvo looms and glares at everyone, nervously touching her arm to reassure himself that she’s still there. 

“No,” she says. “We didn’t see a thing.”

* * *

That night, Daud lays in his bed and stares at the ceiling, completely unable to sleep and wondering what kind of mess he’s gotten himself into now. 

The _ one time _ someone catches him, it just has to be the Empress. 

He’ll have to figure out how to break into Dunwall Tower.

* * *

Jess sits in her office, nervously looking at every little sound. 

She hopes she hasn’t bitten off more than she can chew with this, it seems much more foolish now than it had at the time. Void, he’s probably going to sneak up on her, kill her, and then everyone will wonder why she had two teacups set out when they investigate her death. Or he won’t sneak up on her, try to kill her anyway, and Corvo will wonder why she had two teacups set out when he investigates how the Knife got into her office. Or he won’t even come at all. 

Really, that’s most likely. 

She adjusts the tea set. 

Honestly, he has no sensible motivation to follow her order. It would be far easier for him to just hide out wherever it is he lives and pretend they never met at all; it isn’t like she can force him to appear without raising some serious questions. Coming to the Tower would be difficult and dangerous, she won’t be a bit surprised if the day passes with no sign of him. 

She adjusts the tea set. 

She’ll just have to drink all of this herself, that’s all. 

With her mind made up, she starts on the work that gives a convenient excuse to not take visitors for the next few hours. She signs a few resolutions, makes edits to a handful that should be sent back to Parliament, and tosses one into the wastebasket. She will _ not _allow Overseers to patrol the Grand Park in search of heretics, they’re simply being paranoid. As usual. 

She adjusts the tea set. 

She’s settled into the comfortable routine of paperwork so thoroughly she almost doesn’t notice the knocking. It _ is _very quiet. 

Frowning, she looks up and wonders who it might be, and what emergency might have brought them. Then the transom window over the door slides open and the Knife crams himself through it like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. She worries that his boots will make an awful noise on the floor when he lands, but he suddenly appears in the middle of the room, little wisps of shadow curling around him. 

He bows shallowly. “Your Majesty.” 

“Ah,” she says, trying to look like she hadn’t written him off as absent already. “Yes. Do sit.” 

He eases into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, seeming very uncomfortable with the whole arrangement. He narrows his eyes, deeply suspicious, when she pours their tea, though she’s doing it in front of him so he knows they’re drinking from the same pot. Thankfully the cozy kept it warm. 

“Sugar?” she asks. “Milk?” 

He just shakes his head, refusing both. Jess hands him his cup, adds a bit of milk to her own, and leans back to study him. He holds the saucer like it’s going to bite him, and only takes a sip after she does. He doesn’t make any faces at the flavor, so he’s either a good actor or he actually enjoys it plain. She's not sure which seems more likely. 

“Your Majesty,” he rasps. “Why did you have me come here?” 

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it.” There’s no need to lie. “Tell me, is that— ”

“Transversal,” he supplies. 

“Yes, is that your magic?”

“Part of it.” He shifts in the chair, glances around the room like he’s trying to find hidden spies listening to their conversation, like all of this is an elaborate plan to trap him. “There are other things as well.” 

Fascinating. “Is it true you were,” even alone as they are, she lowers her voice, “Marked? By the Outsider?” 

“...yes.” 

“Show me.”

He pulls of his glove and Jess rounds the desk to take his hand in both of hers and study the Mark. It looks like a tattoo, but the blackness of it is deeper and more intense than the birds on Corvo’s back. She runs a fingertip over one of the lines and could almost swear she _ feels _ something, just for a moment. “Have you seen the Void?”

“More often than I’d like,” he gripes, taking his hand back and hiding it away in the glove again. “Outsider’s fond of visiting dreams.”

“I see,” she says, and chooses not to comment on what he seems to think of those visits. “Do tell me about your associates.” 

He only gives her the barest few details, though she can’t fault him for wanting to keep his secrets. She learns he calls them the Whalers too, there’s a good number of them, one of them is called Montgomery— and as soon as he says that, he makes a face like he hadn’t meant to. For all that he’s gruff and awkward, he’s surprisingly pleasant to speak with, and Jess almost doesn’t want to shoo him away when the time comes. His honesty is refreshing. 

“Your Majesty,” he says. “Do you have work for me?” 

“No.” Not yet, and certainly not the kind he’s probably thinking of. “But come back in another couple of weeks.” 

He’s barely gone when Corvo walks in and smiles at her, and it’s only her well-practiced ability to hide what she’s really thinking that keeps her from looking at him like— well, like she’d just been doing something she shouldn’t, though she feels _ wretched _for hiding this from him. He comes over to lean on the desk and says, “Guess what Emily did today.” 

Oh, Void. “What is it this time?” 

“She tried to climb the rose trellis.” 

Already envisioning thorn-pricked palms and bruises from a hard landing, Jess says, “She didn’t,” out of hope that Corvo will say he’s joking because that’s exactly the kind of thing she would try. 

“She did.” He grins. “Don’t worry, I stopped her before she could hurt herself. She was _ very _disappointed.” 

“I can imagine.” Jess sighs. “She inherited that from you, you know, I never did things like that.” 

“I know.” He doesn’t even _ try _to look sorry. 

“Where is she now?” 

“Picking out which book she wants me to read.” Corvo’s smile softens and he takes her hands to tug her out of the chair and into a hug. He murmurs into her hair, “Did anything exciting happen while I was gone?” 

“Not a thing,” she tells him, and tries to ignore the way guilt settles like a heavy stone in her heart. 

She’ll tell him. Just not today.

* * *

For reasons Daud cannot fathom, the Empress keeps asking him to come back. And, against his better judgement, he does. He enjoys visiting, much more than he thought he would. She doesn’t try to blackmail him or even make him do anything at all, just gives him food and talks. When she complains about Lord Estermont being impossible to deal with, he tells her, “Ask him about Petunia.” 

“Who?”

“His mistress. Lady Estermont doesn’t know about her.” 

_ “Oh,” _ she says, a sly smile spreading across her face. “I believe I will, thank you.”

He shrugs. It seemed like the right thing to do. 

One day she asks, out of the blue, “What is your name?” 

“Daud. Just like on the wanted posters,” he says, doing a bad job of hiding his amusement. “Your Majesty.” 

She blinks. “I assumed that was an alias.” 

After that, she starts insisting he call her Jessamine. It’s bizarre. The whole thing is bizarre, and makes no sense, but here they are anyway. Sometimes, he hears about the Princess (who he’s meant to call Emily) and the bodyguard (who he’s meant to call Corvo). He can’t quite bring himself to do that though, it feels wrong in a way few things involving manners ever have to him before. He hasn’t even _ met _them. 

Montgomery, of course, notices something's happening. 

“Where do you keep going?” she asks, styling her hair and tucking in the ends to protect them. “Are you _ seeing _someone?” 

_ “No.” _ Well, technically yes, but only in the broadest, loosest sense possible. Void, if she were to find out what he’s doing, he’d never live it down. Or she’d have him committed. 

She hums, looking at him sidelong. He can tell she doesn’t quite believe him, but she knows how he works and just how unlikely _ seeing someone _ is. “Well, you’ve seemed happier lately. Whatever it is, you should keep doing it.” 

The Outsider can’t keep his nose out of it either, and he has to suffer through several visits from him to get rambled at about how he’s finally doing something _ interesting _ again, and how _ unlikely _ all of this is until Daud’s sick of it. He _ knows. _

He should suspect something’s afoot when there’s a whole plate piled up with the cheese biscuits Jessamine somehow figured out he likes set out on his side of the desk. But he doesn’t, and so starts cleaning his wristbow in between bites. Jessamine’s office has west-facing windows and afternoon sun slants brightly in, giving him enough light to see what he’s doing. It’s a much better workspace than anything he‘s got, and she even has a magnifying glass he can use to check if any of the gears have bent teeth— a roof tile came loose while he was standing on it a few days earlier and the bow took a hard knock when he caught himself. He’s hoping he doesn’t have to just scrap this one and buy another. 

“Daud,” Jessamine says, taking one of the biscuits. “I— would you stop that?”

He looks up, guilty, from trying to prod the mechanism back into shape with one of her fountain pens. She frowns at him and he puts the pen back where it came. 

“Thank you. I think you ought to meet Corvo.”

She says it so casually it takes a moment for it to sink in. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He’d _ kill _ me.”

“He would not.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you.” That’s probably the worst idea Daud’s heard in a long time, and that’s counting all the harebrained schemes the Whalers invent for entertainment almost daily. “How would you even lead into that?”

“I’ve known him for years, I’d come up with something. You’d be perfectly safe,” she says, looking a bit put out at his (very reasonable, in his opinion) question. “You have to admit, I won’t be able to keep this secret forever. Corvo’s terribly nosy when he wants to be.”

Daud leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, trying to think of a way to argue that, but the only trouble is, there isn’t one. He’s mostly been operating under denial and trust that Jessamine knows what she’s doing, but she’s right. Corvo will find out they’ve been talking eventually, and it would be better for him to hear from her than find out himself and leap to some kind of wrong conclusion. Daud can think of three immediately. He sighs. 

“I— you know I think of you as a friend, don’t you? I wouldn’t intentionally put you in harm’s way.” Daud stares at her incredulously— she’s _ insane_— and the tips of her ears go a little pink. “You’ll be fine.”

Thinking that he really does need to be committed for agreeing to this, Daud rubs his eyes and asks, “When?” 

“Three days from now,” she says, terribly pleased, and ignores the look he gives her. _ “Don’t worry, _ I have a plan. You’ll see.” 

And she passes him another biscuit.

* * *

Jess lies beside Corvo in bed, still panting a little, and slides her hand into his hair to brush it away from his face. He leans into the touch and stretches with a sigh. 

“Roll over,” she murmurs. “On your front, I’ll rub your shoulders.” 

He does it, bunching a pillow under his head. Jess runs the heels of her hands up either side of his spine and starts looking for the knots she knows are there. He groans when she finds them, his features twisting like he can’t decide if it hurts or not. But it’s always like this; Corvo carries tension in his upper back, right under the birds inked into his skin. 

He has crows in flight on his left shoulder blade— those he had done in Serkonos, shortly before leaving for Dunwall, and happened during a night out on the town with friends. They were alone until he added a swan as a centerpiece just after Emily was born, and though he hadn’t quite said it in words, Jess knows that one is meant to be her. His other shoulder is still blank, and the whole thing comes off as a little lopsided. 

“Are you going to get another tattoo here?” She strokes over the empty place. “For Emily?”

“I’d like to. I’m not sure what to get, though.” He grunts when she digs into a tight muscle. “Maybe sparrows.” 

She smiles. He has to keep the theme. “Sparrows would suit her.” 

“I wish you could come, when I get it. But we’d never hear the end of it from Burrows if I took you to some _ disreputable tattoo parlor.” _ He says it in a terrible impression of him and rolls his eyes. 

She laughs and swats at him. “Hush, I don’t want to think about him now.” 

“I don’t either.” Corvo adjusts the pillow and grumbles, “The artist I went to last time was _ perfectly _reputable.” 

“What about the time before that?” 

“You know, I don’t remember.” 

Jess laughs again, imagining Corvo at nineteen, drunk and boisterous and going into the first place he found because he had an _ idea. _ She leans down to kiss his neck and he sighs before rolling over to pull her into his arms. 

“I love you,” he whispers, and presses his mouth to hers, running his hands up her sides to wind into her hair. She loves his hands— his long fingers and broad palms just the right kind of rough from swordwork. 

“I— _ mm_— love you too,” she manages when he moves to the soft place under her jaw to lay a few very insistent kisses there. He lays back after a few more moments to gaze up at her fondly, and Jess uses the opportunity to catch another quick kiss before curling up against his side, one arm and leg draped across him. Corvo hums contentedly. _ Now is as good a time as ever, _ she thinks, and so says, “There’s someone you should meet.” 

“Oh?” He sounds curious. “Who?” 

“You’ll just have to see.” She is _ not _telling him the person is Daud. He would think she was joking anyway. 

She feels more than hears him laugh. “Alright then, keep your secrets. When am I meeting this mystery person?” 

“The day after tomorrow.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” He yawns. “Shall we go to sleep?” 

“I believe we shall.” Jess puts out the light by the bed and tries to pretend she isn’t nervous as Corvo tucks up behind her, the big spoon to her littler.

* * *

The day is almost insultingly bright and cheerful. The miserable drizzle that shrouds Dunwall near-constantly would at least give Daud a reason to be moody. 

He wastes some time pacing and smoking on a rooftop near the Tower, wondering just how Jessamine thinks he’s going to survive this. She’s right, of course she’s right, but he hasn’t forgotten the stories that fly around about Attano easily taking three guards at once in the training yard, or the time he mangled that assassin back when Euhorn Kaldwin was still Emperor. Daud’s heard he just about killed someone in the Tower gardens, too, while the Princess was out toddling around, but that he did it so quickly and quietly no one knew until he asked a guard to take the poor idiot to Sokolov before he bled to death. 

And Daud is, after all, a wanted murderer. 

He wonders what Jessamine thinks of that, or if she’s somehow managed to separate the Knife of Dunwall, who kills people for money, from Daud, who comes to sit in her office and eat her food while trying not to break her worryingly delicate teacups. Maybe she’s just a little more ruthless than he thought. Maybe this is all some complex plot to reform him. 

He tosses the cigarette butt off the roof. 

He’s tempted to bolt; just run away and pretend none of this ever happened. But that thought doesn’t sit well at all— Jessamine called him her _ friend, _ as strange as that is. And if he came back, if he _ ever _came back, ever dragged his sorry self to her doorstep because he wanted to talk to her again, he doesn’t think she would even be angry. She would just be the worst kind of quietly disappointed, and let him in, and tell him about all the things Emily had done while he sat there feeling like scum. And she’d come up with a clever way of getting him to meet Attano, and then he’d be right back in the same place he is now, but feel worse about it. 

He stops pacing. 

He’s not going to leave because he _ likes _Jessamine, and cares about what she thinks, and while he really shouldn’t have, he’s gone and made a friend as well. 

Oh, Void. 

He forces himself to transverse to the Tower as quickly as he can, not giving himself time to think about that or his impending death or anything at all.

* * *

Jess hopes she hasn’t made the wrong decision on this. Corvo walks just slightly behind her, cheerful and calm, and she can’t help but think that won’t last much longer. 

She’d assured Daud that he would be fine, but she’s worried that once Corvo lays eyes on him, he’ll think the worst and try to defend her— which she would also do, were their places reversed. But Daud has the transversal, among other things, so surely he’ll be able to get out of the way? Then she can try to explain. 

He’ll be alright, she tells herself. 

She opens the door to her office, steps inside, and then things happen very quickly. 

Daud stops pacing and looks at them, clearly worried, and Corvo lunges for him. Jess cries _ Corvo, no! _ and he hesitates, just for a moment, but he’s already grabbed him by the collar and is pushing him back toward the wall, and slams him into it with enough force to make a painting jump. Daud makes a pained, angry sound, then Jess catches up with Corvo and can lay her hands on his chest, push him backward as much as he’ll allow her, and order, in her best Empress voice, “Corvo, _ stop.” _

He does, and looks at her in bewilderment. 

“Congratulations, bodyguard, you can stab an unarmed man, _ fucking _ Void,” Daud snarls. “At least I know _ you’re _ safe.” 

Corvo’s still surprised, enough to let Jess move him back a couple of steps and see that Daud’s bleeding freely despite the hand he has clamped over the injury. 

“Corvo, get a first aid kit,” Jess says. 

_ “What— this _is who you wanted me to meet?” 

“Well, yes,” she says, because she thinks that if she doesn’t, Corvo might just stab Daud again. “Please, just get a first aid kit, I will explain when you’re back.” She rubs her temples to avoid seeing the way they’re both looking at her and try to fend off the headache that’s already coming on. “Corvo, please.” 

He shakes his head and walks out, nearly slamming the office door behind himself. 

“I’m sorry,” she says to Daud. “He’ll come around.” 

He shrugs, poking at the wound. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. But I thought you had a _ plan.” _

“Oh, shut up.” He was bad enough when she asked his name, she doesn’t need his teasing now. 

When Corvo returns with the first aid kit, he casts it down onto the coffee table and flings himself into one of the chairs, arms crossed and one leg bouncing, expression stony. 

Daud starts shedding layers, ignoring Corvo’s look of complete outrage. He’s muscular under all his clothes, and covered in a truly alarming number of scars. Jess had only thought Corvo had been torn up in terribly many places, and it almost hurts to look at him. He calmly cleans the injury and doesn’t even get any blood on the sofa, but when he reaches for the needle to start stitching himself, she has to stop him. 

“Outsider’s eyes, Daud, give me that,” she snaps. “I was made to learn to sew, I should at least put it to good use.”

He gives her a funny look, brows drawn together, and half turns away, holding his elbow out to make a sort of barrier between them. Jess reaches for the needle anyway and they struggle for it briefly, Daud insisting _ no _ while she tells him _ give it to me. _ She succeeds and wrests it from him, triumphantly settling back into her place on the couch to smile at him sweetly. “Thank you.” 

He frowns and rests his head in his hand like he’s suffering, but aside from a slow hissed breath when she lays the first stitch, he’s an excellent patient. _ I can’t believe you did that, Corvo _ rests on the tip of her tongue, but she thinks she’d best not say it. He still looks livid. 

He stays quiet until they pack the first aid kit away and Daud methodically puts all his layers and belts back in place, then he speaks. “Jess, what is going on.” 

There's a note of hurt and worry in his voice and Jess’s heart twists; now she knows why he’s so very angry. “You remember the garden party at the Pendletons’?” 

“When Lord Henshaw died?” He frowns, and then she can see him put the pieces together. “You met him _ then?” _

“Yes, well, you see, it was all entirely an accident— I didn’t know he was there, and then I heard Henshaw dying but didn’t realize what was happening and thought I’d try to help him, but I was too late, and there Daud was, and I thought he was going to kill me, but he _ didn’t, _ and I thought, well, with his line of work he probably knows everything about everyone and that there might be some…” she trails off. “Use. For him.” 

“So you, what, invited him over for _ tea?” _ Corvo’s voice cracks. 

Oh, he knows her too well. Jess can feel her ears getting warm. 

“Relax, Attano,” Daud says. “She’s safe from me.” 

“Oh, you just won’t take a contract on her, is that it?” Corvo scoffs.

“No, I won’t,” he says, and Jess smiles. 

Corvo glares. He clearly does _ not _believe him. 

“Well, erm,” Jess says, trying to think of a way to smooth things over a bit. “I could ring for tea?” 

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go.” Daud stands, adjusting his coat. “I don’t feel like getting stabbed again.” 

_ But you only just got here _ and _ you can stay if you’d like _ wouldn’t do anything to change his mind, so Jess keeps quiet. And Corvo will probably appreciate it if he leaves. 

Daud purposefully walks over to the window, opens it so he can climb through and crouch on the sill outside, closes it behind himself, then hops into the empty air and transverses away. 

Show-off. 

Corvo scoffs quietly, apparently having the same thought, then scrubs his hands down his face. He comes to sit on the couch beside Jess and pulls her into a tight hug, his face tucked into the crook of her neck. His hands are shaking. She strokes his hair, trying to soothe him, and his hold eases slightly. 

“I thought he was here to— ” He doesn’t finish the thought, but Jess doesn’t need him to. She knows what he was going to say from the way he exhales in a rush and leans into her. “Please don’t do something like that again. Please.” 

“I won’t.” That’s an easy promise to make. “Corvo, love, are you— ” She fumbles a bit with the words. “Are you very angry with me?” 

“In a way, I just…” He sighs, and when he speaks again his voice is very small. “I was just frightened.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

* * *

Daud stays away from the Tower while he waits to heal up. It’s work to keep that secret from Montgomery, but if she finds out he got hurt, she’ll start asking other questions he doesn’t want to answer yet. Void, he’ll have to tell her eventually. Somehow. 

There comes a point, though, where he’s just stalling. The newest scar in his collection is a tidy pink line on his side, but he still doesn’t go back to visit again. He makes up excuses— he’s busy, some of the novices are just about ready to start going on jobs and he needs to decide where they fit best, there’s a hundred little things he needs to do— but if he’s being honest, he just doesn’t want to surprise Corvo and get knifed again. 

When he and Rulfio and Tynan go out for a job, though, he finds himself meeting their mark’s glassy, dead stare and feeling vaguely ill. The Watch captain (one of Jessamine’s allies, but not someone she’s close with) had put up a fight and died messy. Daud thinks the floor will need to be replaced before the apartment can be rented again. 

The worst part of the whole thing, though, is knowing that the captain’s successor is probably going to be the man who hired Daud to kill him. It’s not unusual for someone to seek him out to make a promotion a sure thing, but Baines is a brute and an idiot that has no business holding that much power. 

Daud starts cleaning his knife, thinking. 

The next morning, he’s taking the familiar path to the Tower. There’s fewer guards out than usual, and he understands why when he hears the kind of happy shrieking that can only belong to the Princess. He blinks up to the top of the gazebo to see what’s going on. 

Jessamine and Attano are sitting in the grass ten or twelve feet apart from each other, playing— well, he doesn’t know what to call it but a game. Emily runs to Jessamine, flings her arms around her neck, screaming in absolute _ delight _the entire time, then turns and runs to Attano to do the same. He lets her bowl him over flat and… ah, kiss him, he wipes his cheek after. He tickles her ribs, and she squirms away to hurtle back toward her mother. 

Daud wants to tell Jessamine what’s happened soon, but he doesn’t want to interrupt their fun. He’ll wait. 

Only about five minutes later, Attano says something to Jessamine and jerks his head in Daud’s direction. She turns to look and beckons him closer, so he transverses to the ground and walks closer to them, careful not to step on the little doll lying nearby. 

“Sit down,” Jessamine says, gesturing generally at the ground. “Emily, this is Daud. Can you say hello?” 

Emily, from where she stands on Jessamine’s other side, looks a little unsure. She doesn't say hello. 

“Could you wave?” 

She can do that for just a second before she hides her face. Daud hopes she’s just shy and not scared, though he can’t exactly blame her if she is. He’d probably be scared too. 

“So, what brings you here today?” Jessamine asks. 

“It’s not something she should— ”

“I see. Emily, go play with Corvo, he looks lonely.” He doesn’t, but it gets Emily to toddle back over to him and start insisting _ walk. Walk. _ “There. What is it?”

Daud leans in close, not wanting to risk Emily hearing, and murmurs, “Have you heard about Captain Marlow?” 

Jessamine sighs slowly. “Yes. I assume that was your doing?” 

“It was. I’m sorry,” he says, because she sounds disappointed, and Void, he should never have taken the contract in the first place. 

“Don’t be, I hardly knew him. What were you going to tell me?” 

“Another officer, Charles Baines, hired me to kill him,” he says, tentatively relieved that she doesn’t seem angry. “He’s hoping for a promotion but he shouldn’t get it, he’s stupid as a box of bricks. Do you think you could stop him?” 

“Possibly,” Jessamine murmurs. “Not directly, of course, but I could make a recommendation.” 

“Who?”

“Geoff Curnow. I’ve met him before, he’s a good man.” 

Daud leans back now that Emily’s not in danger of hearing something she shouldn’t. “I’ll look into him, see if I can find anything useful for you.” 

She looks a bit surprised. “Thank you.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing.” 

“No, it isn’t,” she says, covering his hand with hers. “Let me tell Corvo.” 

He nods and stays sitting on the ground, not knowing what else to do. Before long, he hears quick footsteps and looks up to find the Princess standing in front of him, holding something in her hand. 

“Flower,” she says, holding it out to him. It’s a little crumpled and looks like she picked it up off the ground. “Thack you.” 

“Very nice.” He doesn't know what he’s meant to do, doesn’t even really know how to address her, because while she’s just a kid but she’s also a _ Princess. _ He wishes Jessamine would come back and tell him what Emily wants, but she’s still talking to Attano. 

“Thack you,” she says again, shaking the flower a little and looking at him like she thinks he’s being slow on purpose. He frowns, trying to figure out what she means. Apparently he takes too long, because she huffs exactly like Jessamine does and reaches for his hand, turning it palm up to give him the flower. 

“Oh. Thank you.” That little exchange suddenly makes more sense. It’s an odd gift, but he hasn’t met a toddler that wasn’t a little odd themselves. Emily smiles, then turns like she’s going to walk away, so Daud catches her arm to stop her and tethers the doll to pull it into his hand. “Here.” 

She stares at him, amazed, and though he’s never been good at picking out resemblance on little kids, even he can see that her black hair comes from Jessamine and her brown eyes do not. Her skin is slightly olive, too— _ oh. _

Well, he supposes he knows which rumors are true. 

Daud glances at Attano, just to see, and yeah, they do look a bit alike. He’d already mostly forgiven him for stabbing him, but Void, he really can’t blame him for it now. He’d spit himself on his own sword if it would keep Billie safe, he can only imagine what Attano must’ve thought the other day. 

Of course, this means he’s just barged in on their probably-limited time as a family. His business here is done, though, he can leave them alone and get to work digging up information on Curnow. But Jessamine wouldn’t like it if he just up and left without a word, so he walks over to where she still stands with Attano as they watch Emily smell the flowers. 

“Well, I’ll leave you be,” Daud says. “I should have something on Curnow to you by the end of the week.” 

“But you’ve only just gotten here.” Jessamine sounds surprised. “If you’d like, we could have an early lunch, it would be no trouble.” 

“No, I’ll go.” She shouldn’t have to put him ahead of time with Attano and Emily. “There’s work I need to get to.” 

“If you must.” There’s an odd note to her voice, and Attano glances between the two of them with his eyebrows raised like he’s thinking something but not saying it. “Stay safe.” 

“Mhm.” 

Then Daud leaves the same way he came, and when Dunwall Tower is just a smudge against the sky, feels the strangest kind of disappointment. 

He pushes that to the back of his mind when he gets home, though. If anyone tries to get his attention on the way up to his office, he doesn’t notice, too busy trying to decide who should be assigned to Curnow. If Leonid were older, it would be exactly the thing for her, but he might send Rickard and Fisher, they work well as a team. 

“Where’ve you been?” Billie sits in his office chair like she owns it, with her boots on the desk. 

“Out,” he says, like he’s the sixteen year old. He shoos her _ feet _ off of his _ papers _ — she knows that bothers him and does it just to wind him up— then his bandolier and belt go on top of the cabinet, gloves and wristbow in the desk drawer, coat on the back of the chair and Billie _ graciously _ leans forward to let him put it there, then he summons Fisher and Rickard. 

“I want you two to look into Geoff Curnow,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Acquaintances, family, his history, anything that could affect him getting promoted to Watch captain. I need whatever you can find by the end of the week.”

“Yes, sir.” Fisher’s already working her pale blonde hair into braids. “Do we _ want _him promoted?” 

“Our client does.” 

“Alright. We’ll get it to you.” 

“Didn’t you _ just _ kill the last Watch captain so that someone else could get the job?” Billie tries to put her feet on the desk again. 

“Yes, but this client wants Curnow to get it.” Daud drags the chair back until it’s too far away to reach and she rolls her eyes at him. 

“Figures.” She curls up in the chair, stubbornly refusing to get out of it. “So, how’s your secret girlfriend?” 

He frowns. 

“Boyfriend, then. Neither-friend?” 

“Nonexistent,” he tells her, and she looks disappointed. Void, she must’ve gotten the idea from Deirdre, who probably picked it up from Montgomery. At this rate, he’ll never get any peace. “Shouldn’t you be doing things with your girlfriend, who does exist?” 

“She’s busy.” Billie pouts. “And I’m bored. Tell Monty not to give her so much work.” 

“You could help, you know.” 

She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like the infirmary.” 

“Then don’t complain.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the desk drawer. “Now go, so I can smoke.” 

“Daud, I’m lonely. I’m _ dying.” _

“Go to the infirmary then, I’m sure Deirdre could fix you.” 

_ “Ugh. _ Sending me away. I knew you never loved me.” She covers her eyes like a stage actress, so he flicks a hag-pearl at her, scoring a solid hit on her arm. _ “Hey!” _

“You can come back later,” he says, hands spread wide. “Just leave me be so I can get some work done.” 

“So you can daydream about your boyfriend, more like.” And she cackles and transverses past him, out the door before he can retaliate. 

He sighs.

* * *

“Lord Burrows, I hardly think that’s necessary. _ If _ there are traitors within the government,” Jess says, and puts as much skepticism into her voice as she can, “then they will reveal themselves in due time, we need not start a formal investigation on the possibility that someone _ might _be doing wrong.” 

“And when they do that, they will already have created a web of corruption that spreads far beyond themselves.” Burrows’ voice goes strained and cracking, the closest he ever comes to shouting. “You truly _ trust _everyone around you?” 

“Personally, no, but I trust them to act in their own self-interest,” she says, thinking of the Pendletons. “An investigation would do nothing more than alienate them, it would accomplish nothing.” Burrows begins to sputter, so she says, “Now, Hiram, if you have no more practical suggestions, I must please ask you to allow me to return to my draft of this tax bill, Parliament has been _ most _insistent that I finish it soon.” 

Calling Burrows by his first name and implying that he’s less important than a revision to tax law is as close as she can get to tossing him out by his ear without actually doing it. He makes a face like he’s bitten into something disgusting, so Jess fakes a smile. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he manages, and bows before walking out. 

When the door shuts behind him, Jess rubs her temples. If it was easy to get a new spymaster, she would. She _ knows _ she’s working in a den of snakes (and lumps Burrows in with them because _ honestly) _ but she has to keep said snakes content enough not to turn against her. Every member of Parliament would see Burrows’ idea as an invitation to start conspiring. 

The only ones she really trusts are Corvo and Daud.

* * *

Daud creeps along the Tower’s crown moulding, trying not to crinkle his papers too badly. Frowning, he smooths out a dog-eared corner and hopes Jessamine doesn’t mind it. Hearing footsteps in the hallway, he looks (he always looks) and it’s the bodyguard, with his ridiculous coat billowing behind him. 

There’s no one around, so Daud hisses _ Attano _ and he stops, straightening up and looking at the paintings like they’re the ones that started talking to him. “Up here.” 

Then he gets it, and comes a little closer. _ “That’s _ how you’ve been getting around?” 

Daud shrugs. “I use the light fixtures too.” 

“The— ” he stops himself, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Follow me.” 

He turns and goes back the way he came, then checks for passerby before motioning for Daud to follow him through an unassuming door into what turns out to be a linen closet. 

“Is this for Jessamine?” he asks, and Daud passes him the folder. 

“Mhm. It isn’t as much as I would like, but it’s everything we could get in time to be useful.” 

Attano squints at a page of Fisher’s tiny handwriting. “No, this is excellent, it looks like more than enough. I’m sure she’ll be happy with it.” He tucks the paper back into the folder and sighs. “Daud, I— I’m sorry for stabbing you, the other day.” 

Those are not words Daud expected to hear in that order. He fumbles for something to say for a moment or two before settling on a shrug and, “It’s fine.” 

And it _ is, _ Daud’s not sore about it. Some of the Whalers have done worse to him, and each other, for that matter, when they get to that awful point in their training when they know just enough to do real damage without always knowing how to stop themselves. Attano had a better reason than them, anyway. 

He doesn’t look convinced, though, and shifts on his feet a little awkwardly with the folder tucked under his arm. 

“Do you want to spar?” 

Daud frowns, because he wasn’t expecting that either. Attano seems a little unsure too, almost like he hadn’t quite meant to ask. It doesn’t seem like quite the best idea, but Daud supposes that Jessamine has tea and conversation, and Attano has sparring. It’s the same thing, really, just with different coats of paint on. And since he would like to keep coming back, he says, “Sure.” 

Attano smiles at him, a little crooked in a way that makes him look like he’s up to no good. “Come with me, then.” 

They make a stop by what must be Attano’s office so he can toss the folder onto his desk, but then it’s on to a square little building toward the edge of the grounds that doesn’t look like it sees much use. The green paint is starting to peel in a place or two, but on the whole it’s still in fairly good repair. 

“This is the old training building,” Attano says, unlocking the door. “They’ve just built a new one, though, with an attached barracks and such. We’ll have this one to ourselves.” 

He feels along the wall just inside the door, and the lights overhead flicker to life. There are benches along a couple of sides, lockers on another, and a rack still full of sabers on the fourth. Thick mats cover most of the floor. 

“Here.” Attano holds a sword out to him hilt-first, something pulling at one corner of his mouth. “It’s not sharp.” 

Daud snorts and takes it, twirling it a bit to see how it compares to his usual. It’s a little longer, a little lighter, more of a dueling sword than what the Whalers have. It’s not that different, though. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Attano says, and Daud has to bite back a retort to the old man joke that isn’t there (and he’s about to get tired of those, he hasn’t even hit forty yet). But Attano’s sincere and he’s done looking over the saber, so he steps into the ring and settles into a defensive stance. 

And it’s good he does, because he barely has a moment before Attano’s in motion, cutting in quick to get at his side. Daud parries, sidesteps, but then he’s back again, coattails flaring behind him as he comes close to getting the point of his sword under Daud’s ribs. After that, he backs away, grinning like a madman as he and Daud circle each other. 

Daud thinks he’s getting an idea of how this is going to go— Attano’s _ fast, _ and he seems to like dancing in and out of reach, using his long arms to his advantage. It’s not exactly standard-issue City Watch form, but it’s vaguely familiar in a way that sets questions niggling at the back of his mind. He’ll have to ask later, though, because Attano’s barreling toward him again with a flurry of quick strikes. Daud’s able to turn his momentum back on him, sending him stumbling across the mats and _ that’s _how he’ll have to beat him. If he can get an opening, he’ll knock him down. 

Of course, Daud could always just tether him, or transverse behind him and hold the sword’s blunted edge to his throat, but that’s hardly fair, and they’re not being serious. They drive each other across the mat, one way and then another, and Daud thinks that in another life, Attano would’ve been an incredible Whaler, even if the bond didn’t take. He might’ve even been second. 

Void, sparring with him is _ fun. _ Daud doesn’t have to pause to give instructions or correct his form, he can just focus on what he’s doing, how he’s going to fend off the next cat-quick blow. And they’re so evenly matched, he thinks they could be at this a long time, just wearing each other down and enjoying every minute of it. 

Attano’s grin doesn’t slip until Daud bowls him over. He lands flat on his back in the middle of the mats and Daud relaxes, glad to get a chance to breathe. 

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asks. 

“Karnaca, on the streets,” Attano says, apparently content to lie there and pant. “‘M from the Batista District.” 

“Really?” Daud ambles over to him and sticks out his hand. 

“Yeah.” Attano takes it and Daud easily helps him up off the floor. He grabs his bicep to catch his balance and ducks behind his hair, then goes very still. “What have you done to me?” 

“What?” Daud looks, and sees the Mark just as it finishes coming in on the back of Attano’s hand. It’s almost as dark as his own and of _ course _the Lord Protector, of all people, is sensitive to magic. “Shit.” 

“What is this?” 

“A bond, sometimes I can share my abilities. Give me your hand, I’ll take it back.” It’s no guarantee he won’t get it again, since he just picked it up like that, but he can’t _ keep _it, there’s no reason to take that kind of risk. 

To his surprise, Attano snatches his hand back. “What kind of abilities?” 

“Does it _ matter?” _ Attano gives him a look as if to say _ obviously. _ Fine. “Everyone gets the transversal, most get a kind of dark vision, tethering is fairly common, and a few can slow or stop time.” He sighs. “And if I had to guess, I’d say you probably can.” 

“How can you tell?” 

Daud tugs off his glove. “It’s usually lighter on ones with fewer powers.” 

Attano steps in close and takes his hand, comparing the Mark’s unnatural intensity to the slightly faded, old-ink look of its copy. “I hope you know I’m keeping this.” 

“Attano— ” 

“Corvo,” he says, not letting go of his hand. “And it will be _ useful. _ I can spy on dignitaries from the chandeliers now.” Daud tries to protest but he keeps talking, finally letting go of him. “And I can come up with some bullshit excuse to start wearing gloves to hide it, no one will ever know. I’ll even let you take it when I have to go to the Abbey.” 

Daud frowns, and Att— Corvo just tilts his head like a bird, smiling again. Damn it. He has a point. “If Jessamine says anything, you’re not getting it back.” 

“Sounds fair.” Corvo’s grinning now, probably a bit giddy with the rush of new power through his blood. “So, how do I use this?” 

In place of answering, Daud kicks the back of his knee, just enough to knock him off balance, and shoves him, hard. Corvo starts to fall, looking betrayed, then transverses and reappears on the other side of the mat. 

Now it’s Daud’s turn to smile. “Just like that.” 

“You _ bastard.” _

And then they’re back to chasing each other around, swords forgotten as Corvo learns, and it’s the most honest fun Daud’s had in months.

* * *

“I’m worried about him.” Jess tucks in a little closer to Corvo, her cheek against his chest. “He’s been away an awfully long time.” 

“He’s probably just been busy,” Corvo says, stroking her hair. “Maybe something took him out of the city.” 

“Hm, perhaps.” She looks at the window, and the thin coating of frost already trying to form on the panes. It’s an unseasonably cold night, even for early autumn. She’s glad for the fire and the blanket she and Corvo have draped over themselves, and can’t help imagining Daud and some of his Whalers perched on a rooftop somewhere, out in the wind. He’s been gone five weeks without a word, and while she won’t begrudge him living his own life, this sudden silence is worrisome. She hopes nothing has happened to him. 

She and Corvo sit together a while longer, enjoying the quiet (which can be very hard to come by, now that Emily can walk just about anywhere she pleases) and each other’s company. Just as Jess catches herself falling asleep on Corvo’s shoulder, she hears tapping on the window. Corvo must notice it too, because he stiffens and straightens up. 

“Oh,” he says. “It’s Daud.” He stands, crosses the room to unlock the window and open it, then says, “Oh, _ shit.” _

Jess looks up and finds Daud standing there, absolutely covered in blood, swaying slightly and looking a bit wild at the edges. His lip is split, there’s a cut by one of his eyes and a bruise coming in around it, and his right arm hangs strangely limp at his side. 

Corvo starts leading him over to the sofa and Jess makes room for him, moving the blanket out of the way. “Void, Daud, what _ happened?” _

“It’s not all mine.” He must be talking about the blood, and probably thinks he’s being _ reassuring, _ but all that does is raise other, horrible questions Jess isn’t sure she wants the answers to. He groans when he sits down but doesn’t start getting out of his clothes like he had when Corvo hurt him, and she thinks he has rather more reason to do that now. But then Corvo touches his shoulder and he flinches away with a hissed breath, perhaps that has something to do with it. 

“I’ll get Sokolov,” Corvo says, and Jess nods at him, a little distracted by dabbing away the blood running down from Daud’s eyebrow with her pocket handkerchief. Even if some of it isn’t his, he’s still not acting normally and getting a doctor to look at him won’t do any harm. 

Daud blinks, then goes, “Oh, fuck, not _ him,” _ like they’re about to haul him before an executioner. 

“Hush,” Jessamine tells him, not unkindly. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” 

Gloves first, and she has to help him, gently working them off since his right hand is mostly numb and it hurts to move his arm much at all. She drops those on the coffee table, follows them with his bandolier and belt, then turns to eye his coat with concern because she’s not exactly sure how to get it off without hurting him. If she wouldn’t leave bloody prints on her pajamas, she would put her hands on her hips. Daud looks at her, shivering— but of course he’s cold, he’d been outdoors Outsider only knows how long. 

“Alright,” she murmurs. And it’s work, but they manage, even though she wants to apologize every time his breath catches because she knows he’s swallowing pained sounds. Her hands still, though, when she finds the slowly bleeding wound under his ribs. 

_ It’s not _ all _ mine. _ Of course. 

“Here,” she says, willing her voice not to shake, and presses his shirt into his hand. It’ll at least soak up the blood until Corvo gets back and really, he shouldn’t be long now, even though he probably had to wake Sokolov up. She arranges the blanket across Daud’s shoulders, trying to ignore the one that’s obviously the wrong shape, and pads into the bathroom to wash her hands. 

She pulls her hair back while she’s in there, and leans against the sink to rub her eyes. A part of her wants to cry, but she makes herself walk back into the bedroom to sit with Daud. 

He’s staring into the fire, still shivering. He whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?”

“Just— ” He swallows. “Showing up— I didn’t know where else to go, home’s on the other side of the river— ”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jess says, gripping his hand. “I’m glad you came.” 

Then the door opens, Sokolov and Corvo come in, and Daud turns his head to glower with a kind of venom she’s never seen on him before. She doesn’t think he would do that without a good reason, though, and wonders what kind of history they might have. 

“Hello, Daud,” Sokolov says, and Jess squints at him. He pulls the blanket to the side and raises his eyebrows. “Well, that’s certainly dislocated. Corvo, you’ve put shoulders back in before, haven’t you?” 

“I’ve helped.” He comes to stand by Sokolov in front of Daud, who looks more and more like he wants to sink into the couch cushions and disappear. Jess moves to give them room to work, and watches as Daud suffers through a quick examination with gritted teeth. It takes her a moment to work out that the low sound, almost like a growl, is coming from him. 

“Now, Corvo, put your hands here,” Sokolov directs. 

“We’ll do it on three, alright?” Corvo says, and Daud nods. “One, two— ” 

They _ move, _ and Jess hears a muffled click before he groans, seeming more angry than hurt. _ “You bastards.” _

“It feels much better now, though, doesn't it?” Sokolov sounds terribly cheerful. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Buy me a brandy first, then we can talk. Move it slowly, let’s check range of motion, shall we?” 

Daud tries to punch him, a bit halfheartedly. 

_ Well then, _ Jess thinks. _ He’s probably going to be alright. _

Sokolov just sighs irritably and bats his hand away, reaching for the shirt Daud still has pressed over the injury to draw it aside. Sokolov’s expression goes pinched, and he turns to begin rifling through his medical bag. He turns around holding a syringe and Daud recoils. 

“What is that?” he asks, deeply suspicious. 

“Something to prevent infection, you’ll need it.” 

He must think that sounds reasonable enough and says, “Fine.” 

He slides the needle into Daud’s arm and starts laying out everything he’ll need to stitch him up on the coffee table. He moves oddly slowly, carefully arranging everything in a tidy row like he has all the time in the world, making sure the gauze pads are neatly stacked and the bandages are tidy beside them. Daud just sits and waits for a moment, then furrows his brow and swallows hard. He closes his eyes and seems to have a hard time getting them open again, and then, with the look of someone that knows he’s been had, slurs _ you fuck _ before falling unconscious. 

“Right then.” Sokolov strokes his beard, and Jess really, truly wishes she could train him out of doing that. “Your Majesty, you should put as many towels as you like on the bed. Corvo, I need a basin, a large one, and when you get back, help me move him.” 

Jess nods. She’ll need to get to a linen closet. 

Remembering what Corvo has always said about people who sneak sometimes being easier to catch than people who don’t, she squares her shoulders and marches down the hall like there’s nothing unusual whatsoever about her rummaging through closets at nearly midnight. She suspects it only works because there’s no one around to see her, but she won’t complain. She makes it back and pulls the duvet down to start spreading towels out across the bed, two layers thick, draping one over the pillow for good measure. Daud’s already stained the sofa, he doesn’t need to get to her sheets as well. She hears Corvo come in just as she’s finishing up, and Sokolov fusses a bit, though to be fair, it looks like he brought the largest mixing bowl he could find. 

“Alright,” Corvo says, and she can tell exactly when they pick Daud up from the grumbling and swearing about how heavy he is. She’s not sure what they were expecting. He’s not a small man. They manage though, flopping him on the bed, and he just looks _ wrong, _ half-naked and sprawled out bonelessly the way he is. He looks nearly dead, and as soon as Jess has that thought she has to look away. _ He’ll be fine, _ she tells herself. 

“Alright,” Sokolov says, rolling up his sleeves. “Your Majesty, Corvo, I’m afraid you’re being evicted.” 

“Come on,” Corvo murmurs, steering her out of the room. “Let’s go to the sitting room, we can get a little sleep in there.” 

She leans into him as they walk, and he wraps his arm around her, rubbing circles into her shoulder with his thumb. “What do you think happened?” 

He shakes his head. “I have no idea. Could’ve been anything, really.” 

_ Anything with a knife, _ she thinks. 

“He’ll be alright,” Corvo says, and Jess wishes she felt as sure as he sounds.

* * *

Daud wakes up slowly. 

The first thing he notices is the deep ache under his ribs, and the second is the softness of the bed. He’s warm. Cozy, even, he’s covered in blankets up to his neck. He opens his eyes and frowns. He knows why he’s in Dunwall Tower, he vividly remembers getting stabbed and going there as quickly as he could. And he recognizes where he is, too, so he’s left wondering why he’s in Jessamine’s room and _bed_ specifically until she comes out of the bathroom and notices he’s awake. She smiles. 

“Good afternoon,” she says. “How are you feeling?” 

The most honest answer would be some version of _ bad _on account of the stabbing, but he’s comfortable otherwise and doesn’t want her to worry, so says, “I’ve been worse.” 

She gives him a look like she’s not quite satisfied with that answer. “Do you need anything? Something to eat?”

“A drink. Please.” 

She makes a stop at the coffee table and comes over to hand him tea— in a proper sturdy mug this time— and sits on the edge of the bed. “Here you are.” 

He slowly, carefully sits up to take it and has a horrible realization. “You said it was the afternoon?” 

“Yes, why?” 

“Shit.” He scrubs one hand over his face. No one at home so much as blinks when he’s gone for an evening, but now that he’s missed dinner, breakfast, and lunch as well, Montgomery, Leonid, Rulfio, and Deirdre are probably all starting to worry (and Billie too, even though she wouldn’t admit it). And Jessamine’s probably been having to chase maids away to keep them from finding him. “I need to leave.” 

“What? _ No, _ you’re in no state to be going anywhere.” She looks at him like he’s lost his mind, and he’s probably doing the same to her. “Why do you think you need to go?”

“It— I— I can’t _ stay _ here.” 

“Don’t worry about that, Corvo and I made a plan.” She pats his knee and he hopes this one is better than her last. Smiling brightly, she says, “I’m violently ill.”

She sounds entirely too chipper about that. 

“What?”

“That’s what we’re telling everyone. As far as they know, I’ve come down with something foul that might be contagious, so Corvo’s the only person allowed in until you feel well enough to go home. Sokolov even wrote a note.” 

That does sound better than her last plan. Except, “Why does Corvo get to come in?”

She blushes a little, and he feels an idiot for asking. “The idea is that he’s already been exposed and hasn’t gotten sick, and I don’t want to risk anyone else’s health.” 

Or, in other words: she wanted to kiss him now and then. Understandable. 

Daud hums. “Where did you sleep?”

“Corvo found a cot.” She gestures and he cranes his neck to get a look at the single fanciest cot he’s ever seen. It even has a mattress, and he doesn’t feel quite as bad about taking over the bed. “Do you need anything else?”

“Not right now.” He shakes his head. “I should let my people know where I’m at.” 

This isn’t the way he wanted them to learn where he’s been going, but he has no idea what they would do if he just vanished for a few days and he doesn’t think he wants to find out. 

“Oh,” Jessamine says. “Will Corvo need to deliver the message?”

“No.” He isn’t quite sure who to summon, though. Someone believable, of course, and professional enough to not do something stupid in front of Jessamine. Fisher, then. Daud concentrates, feels along the threads of the bond until he finds hers, and gives a tug. She responds quickly as she always does, appearing in the space by the bed. 

“Sir.” She starts to salute, catches sight of Jessamine, and blushes deeply scarlet before changing direction and bowing. “Your Majesty.” 

Jessamine looks completely shocked for a whole second, probably because of both the magic and Fisher’s fairly towering height, then recovers and demurely folds her hands in her lap with an air of quiet interest. It looks like Fisher has to force herself to turn away. “What do you need me to do, sir?” 

“Tell everyone that I’m fine, and that they’ll live without me around for a few days. Let Montgomery know— ” He sighs and asks Jessamine, “Do you have paper?” 

“Of course.” She walks away and comes back with a few sheets stuck to a clipboard and a pen. Daud winces— it’s Kaldwin letterhead— but writes a letter on it anyway, sketching out what happened. Montgomery already knows mostly why he left, so it’s just a matter of telling her that he was stabbed and doesn’t feel up to making the trip back, but that he’s safe and will come home as soon as he can. He puts the scratchiest signature he can on it so she’ll _ know _ it’s from him, folds it up, and passes it to Fisher. 

“Here. Make sure no one starts celebrating.” 

She stops looking panicked long enough to quirk her lips into her odd little half-smile. “Yes, sir.” 

“I’ll ring for Corvo,” Jessamine says. “What is your name?” 

“H— Fish— Hana Fisher,” she stammers, blushing again. “I just use Fisher. Your Majesty.” 

Daud squints at her. 

“Fisher, Corvo will show you a safe way out.” Jessamine gets her out the door, Fisher stumbling over her words the entire time, and Daud hopes the others won’t be too hard on her when she gets back, he knows Montgomery is going to fuss. She can always just loom over them all and shout if she has to, though, she’s good at that. 

The smile drops off Jessamine’s face when the door closes, and she comes back to sit on the bed, rubbing the duvet between her fingers, eyes downcast. She draws a breath, seems to hesitate, and says, “I was terribly worried about you, you know.” 

Daud doesn’t reply. He isn’t sure what to say. 

“You’re always welcome here, please never feel like you have to stay away. And if you need _ anything, _ just ask, and if it’s something I can give, I will.” 

“Alright,” he says, voice gruff because she’s just _ saying _ that, and part of him wishes she wouldn’t lie. But she probably feels obligated, since he physically can't leave. Well, he probably could if forced, but it would hurt. 

“Daud, I mean it. Look at me,” she says softly, and there are tears gathering against her eyelashes. “You’re my _ friend.” _

And she reaches out, wrapping her arms around his chest, gentle like she’s afraid of hurting him. She sighs against his neck, and when he returns the hug, hands tangling in all her hair, she sniffs. He shouldn’t believe her, he really shouldn’t, but he wants to, wants to think that she cares for him even though he’s done almost nothing for her and has certainly been more trouble than he’s worth. She pulls away after a few more moments, wiping her eyes, and squeezes his hand, saying, “I’ll be on the couch if you want anything.” 

She walks away, and he then hears the scratch of pen on paper. Without anything better to do, he finishes his tea and leans back against the pillows, closing his eyes. He’s never had a pillow so soft. 

He wakes up from an entirely unplanned nap in a panic because _ something _ is _ grabbing _ his _ foot— _

He looks and it’s just Emily, trying to climb up with a picture book, using his foot as a handhold. She has a surprisingly strong, pinchy grip for a toddler. 

He lets his head flop back and forces himself to breathe. 

Emily carefully walks up the bed and sits down, looking at him expectantly. “Book. Read,” she says, patting the cover. “Me.” 

“You want me to read you a story?” he asks, just to check. She hadn’t seemed that sure about him the last time they met, but she did give him a flower, so he just doesn’t know. 

She nods. He picks up the book to look at it, finding a mouse in a dress carrying a basket along a forest path on the title page, and Emily tucks herself under his arm. 

Alright then. 

The story is about the widowed Mrs. Mouse _ (Why is she a widow? _ Daud wonders. That seems like an oddly morbid detail.) and her children, who need to find food to last them the winter before the first frost. There isn’t much dialogue, which Daud appreciates; he doesn’t think he could do a Mrs. Mouse voice if he tried. 

Mrs. Mouse has trouble getting the food; first she’s chased away by geese eating from a berry bush. Daud isn’t surprised, geese are assholes. But then it’s squirrels who don’t want to share their acorns, and a mole who thinks he’s hearing things since he can’t see her. It seems like a bizarrely grim little book. Maybe Emily likes the pictures. 

Just as he gets to the part when Mrs. Mouse goes to ask the owl for help, he hears a quiet snore. Emily’s fallen fast asleep, using his arm for a pillow. He’s in danger of being drooled on. 

He sighs. 

“Jessamine,” he whispers, hoping it’ll carry over the sound of the fire. “Jess.” 

She looks over the back of the couch and he motions her over. When she sees how he’s trapped, she makes a face like her daughter sleeping is the most wonderful thing she’s ever witnessed, though he’s certain she’s seen it at least a few times before. 

_ “Oh,” _ she murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching to brush Emily’s hair out of her face. “Daud, if you don’t want to answer, I won’t pry, but I just wanted to ask, what— what happened?”

“Assassins,” he says, keeping his voice low. Jess’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth. “A crew of five, from Morley. They were,” he hesitates, “hired for you, but I figured out where they were and went to look around. I was going to tell Corvo and let the Watch arrest them but I underestimated them, ended up in a fight.”

“Are they— ?”

“They’re all dead.” 

“I see.” She twists her hands together and says, in a tone that suggests she’s about to get very emotional, “Daud— ” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters, because there’s nothing to talk _ about. _ He went after the assassins first out of curiosity and then because he had to, it isn’t that different from Corvo doing the same. He doesn’t want thanks. To change the subject, he asks, “What should we do with Emily?” 

“I’ll get her. Don’t worry, she’s a heavy sleeper.” 

Jess carefully maneuvers her into her arms, somehow not waking her. She gets Corvo to come back, since she is supposed to be sick, and passes Emily off to him. Daud purposefully doesn’t stare, but it’s hard not to notice Corvo hugging Jess, and then kissing her, when they’re standing in his periphery. 

He feels like a trespasser.

* * *

Jess startles awake when she hears a pained groan. 

She fumbles for the light, hears Corvo doing the same on his side of the bed, and he’s probably thinking something horrible has happened to Daud as well, that he’s— she doesn’t know, somehow torn all his stitches out, or just noticed he’s gotten an infection, or _ something. _ They both get the lamps on at about the same time and look to see what’s befallen him. 

He’s not visibly dying, at least, just sitting up on the cot, hunched over, breathing deep and ragged. He has an arm curled protectively around his waist (though there’s no blood) and stares somewhere into the middle distance. 

“Daud, are you alright?” she asks. 

He blinks himself out from wherever he’d gone and rubs his eyes with a shaking hand. He mumbles, “‘M fine, it was just…” 

But he doesn’t look fine, he looks awful— tense and strangely, terribly unhappy. Jess slips out of bed and pads over to the cot to take his hand, waiting to see if there’s anything she should do and hoping he doesn’t take this as an unwelcome invasion of his space. He grips back, tentative at first and then stronger. The skin under his eyes shines wet. 

“This is why I didn’t want to sleep here,” he finally says, with a kind of exhausted resignation. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” she says softly. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

He hesitates, nods. “It’s always worse when I try to sleep somewhere new.” 

This must happen regularly, then, and while she isn’t exactly surprised, she hadn't really considered the possibility before. Her heart twists and she slowly moves to pull him into a hug, giving him time to refuse it. He leans into her instead, exhaling unsteadily into her neck, his hands coming up to curl into her pajama shirt. She stays there, gently rubbing up and down the length of his spine until all the tension bleeds out of him and he seems calm. He certainly looks more relaxed when she leans away. 

She gives his hand one last squeeze. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jess.” 

And she gets back into bed, into Corvo’s waiting arms, and can’t help but wonder what could give a man like Daud nightmares.

* * *

Daud thinks everything is in order. His bonecharms are tucked back into their proper places (Corvo and Jess had been so interested in those, he’d had to spread them out all over the coffee table as he explained what each one does), his borrowed clothes are in with the rest of the laundry, and if he had any idea where the cot came from, he’d put it back. He’ll say goodbye to Jess when she finishes with her makeup and then leave. 

It still hurts to lean over but that isn’t surprising, this is nothing like Corvo’s stunt with that little knife. He does take a break between the first and second boot, though, to flop against the chair back and breathe and generally feel decrepit. He isn’t looking forward to making the trip home, but he does want to see something other than the inside of this particular room. While he is grateful, he never wants to be confined to a small space with two other people for days on end again. 

Just after he finishes with the laces and stands, Jess comes out with a waft of perfume, heels clacking. She glances at the clock, swears, and clacks over to give him a hug that smells flowery and expensive. 

“Be safe,” she says. “I’ll see you soon?” 

That isn’t so much an actual question as it is a cue for him to tell her, “Once Montgomery lets me go.” 

She smiles. “I’ll look forward to it. Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye.” 

She rushes out and Corvo closes the book he was paging through, leaving it on the coffee table and getting up to amble over to where Daud stands by the window. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Hm?” That’s enough to make him a bit nervous.

Corvo seems almost to struggle with what to say before settling on, “Thank you. For looking into those assassins.” Daud tries to get a word in, tell him that he shouldn’t, really, he’d be a shit friend if he hadn’t, but he steamrolls on. “No, I mean it. You might’ve saved Jess’s life.” 

“I doubt it would’ve come to that.” He’s seen how Corvo fights, they wouldn’t have stood a chance against him _ and _ the Tower guards. 

“It could’ve,” Corvo says, stubborn. Daud notices he’s gripping his own bicep, knuckles white. “They were planning on showing up here about the time you did.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. They thought it would be easier in the dark.” 

Daud just grunts, contemplating. That would explain how they were jumpy enough to notice him, he was being careful. He didn’t really have long to study things before it all went pear-shaped, but they _ had _seemed busy.

_ “So,” _ Corvo says, almost painfully earnest, “thank you.” 

He grits his teeth, unsure of how to respond. Corvo and Jess— both of them keep acting like he’s done something out of the ordinary, something that deserves special praise and he can’t help but feel like it rings hollow because he _ hasn’t. _ When he caught wind of the assassins, he’d rightly judged them a possible threat and looked into them. It’s procedure, it’s routine, it keeps everyone _ safe. _ He’s not sure why they seem to think it’s not something he’d do for everyone he— 

He has to stop himself there. 

“And I’m not sure if she told you,” Corvo continues, “but you can always come here, neither of us would mind.” 

“You don’t— ?” He has no idea how to put his question into words and cuts himself off before he can say something stupid.

Corvo gives him a flat look that says his ploy didn’t work and he thinks he’s being an idiot. “No. Look, I know exactly where I stand with her and I trust her. I’m glad you’re friends.” One corner of his mouth ticks up. “And you’re not as much of a bastard as I thought you would be, I guess I can let you stay.” 

Daud snorts. “I should go.” 

“Alright. Tell your Whalers I say hello.” 

Shaking his head, he leaves by way of the window and slowly makes his way across the city, toward home. He’s just glad the weather’s decent, with clouds that look like pulled-apart cotton balls scudding quickly across the sky, but he’ll take bluster and sun over rain. He takes the chance to stretch his legs without any real sense of urgency, because everyone will live if he takes a little longer to get back. 

When he does get home, he lets himself in, pleasantly out of breath from hurrying the last few hundred feet. It’s quiet, but that isn’t unusual for early afternoon, when everyone should be back to what they were assigned to. Pickford sees him, though, and cheerfully hollers, “Hello, Daud!” 

“Hello, Pip.” The kid looks so hopeful, swinging his feet and pushing his shock of bright ginger hair out of his eyes, that Daud asks, “No lessons today?” 

“I already got done!” he says proudly, then wrinkles his nose. “It was maths, though.” 

He hums in sympathy. “Best you’re done, then.” 

“Yeah. Bye!” He turns and scrambles off, leaving Daud to frown after him, wondering what that was about. 

He shrugs and makes his way up to his office, thinking he’ll need to let Montgomery know he’s back and try to get out of the hole he’s probably dug himself into because he just _ knows _she isn’t going to be happy with him. He pushes the door open and stops. 

He doesn’t have to find her after all, and understands now why Pip had to run. She’s already standing by his desk, arms crossed, looking somewhere between absolutely pissed and happy to see him. In one breath, she says, “I was worried _ sick, _ where _ have _ you _ been?” _

He decides to just say it. Breaking things to her slowly never works. “I was in the Tower.” 

She stares like he’s lost his mind. _ “Where?” _

“The Tower,” he repeats. “I—” 

_ “Why?” _

“Because the crew from Morley stabbed me,” he says, laying his coat on the desk and starting in on his waistcoat’s buttons. “Among other things.” 

Montgomery draws near to look at the line of stitches. “They saw you?” 

“Unfortunately. They were better than I thought they might be.” 

She lays her hand on the skin around the injury, probably checking if it’s warmer than it should be, and he hisses a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine, just sore.” 

“I can imagine, it looks like they caught you in the liver. This looks good though, I don’t think it should give you any undue grief.” 

“Didn’t Fisher tell you where I was?” he asks, looking for a fresh shirt since the one he was wearing has a slightly itchy repair job. “I sent her back with a note.” 

“She did,” Montgomery says. “But I wanted to hear it from you.” 

He hums, thinking he’d have probably done the same, were he in her place. 

“Why _ were _you in the Tower, anyway?” she asks, leaning against his bookshelf. “I can’t imagine they would just let you in.” 

He grabs a shirt out of his trunk and pulls it on. “They don’t, I used a window.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you can’t just leave off there, that makes it sound like you have a standing appointment.” 

He sighs, buttoning up the shirt. “You remember that garden party at the Pendleton’s?” 

“Yes, the one a few months ago?” 

“Yeah.” And he tells her the whole story, from running into Jess and their first awkward conversations to meeting Corvo (“I _ thought _you were acting strange!” she exclaims, when she hears about the stabbing and how he tried to keep it secret.) and on until he’s sidetracking, telling her about Emily’s games and her book before he works back around to the assassins from Morley, the fight, his sprint to the Tower, and the days he spent there. It’s a longer story than he thought it would be. 

“You’ve _ actually _befriended the Empress,” she says, twisting a coil of her hair around one finger. “Though somehow I’m not surprised.” 

Daud frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It just figures that you would be the one to somehow do it. You must admit, it’s in keeping with the rest of your life.” 

He hums, supposing he can see where she would think that. “So, what do you think?” 

“Of all this?” she asks. “I think it’s mad and you could’ve gotten yourself killed with it, but it may help all of us in the long run. You couldn’t ask for a better ally.” 

“I just hope the Abbey doesn’t find out.” 

“They haven’t been able to catch us yet.” 

He hopes it stays that way. “Corvo says hello, by the way.” 

“Oh, he does?” 

Just then, the door bangs open and Billie stands at the threshold, hands on her hips. Deirdre waves from behind her. 

“How long have you been here?” Billie demands. 

Daud shrugs. “An hour, maybe.” 

She gives him a withering look and comes to sit on the edge of his desk, and Deirdre stands beside her, arm around her waist. Billie frowns, sniffing deeply. “Why do you smell like perfume?” 

Oh, Void. Jess must’ve gotten it on his waistcoat, or his jacket. 

_ “Daud,” _ Deirdre says, looking scandalized and overacting a bit, “are you cheating on Montgomery?” 

Billie starts to cackle and Montgomery swats at them both with a rolled-up paper until they’re laughing too hard to flee, though that doesn’t stop them from trying. Daud stays put in his chair, trying his best to frown like he disapproves, but he knows Deirdre’s only poking fun. She doesn’t say things like that to wind people up, she’s only trying to get a laugh out of them. 

Once they get calmed down, Billie perches on his desk again. “So, were you really at the Tower?” 

Her eyes are hard, her arms crossed tightly, and her voice is brittle. Daud thinks of Deirdre’s arm and collarbone, broken when Radanis Abele decided to get the street urchin out of his way. He paid dearly for that mistake. 

“Yes,” he admits, because it won’t do any good to try and hide it now. Billie clenches her jaw but doesn’t try to interrupt, and Deirdre holds her hand. “I’ve been speaking with the Empress since the Pendleton’s garden party.” 

It’s probably a bit soon to call her Jess. 

Billie’s jaw drops open. Her voice strangled, she asks, “Are you two _ fucking?” _

_ “Billie,” _ Montgomery scolds, just as Daud says _ no, _ equally horrified, and Deirdre punches her on the leg. 

“No,” Daud says again, for good measure. “We’re friends.” 

“Are you _ sure?” _ she asks, but she follows it with, “She a noble, you know what they’re like.” 

“She’s good, though,” Deirdre murmurs. “Isn’t she?” 

Daud nods. “Kinder than almost anyone else I’ve met.” 

Deirdre nods sagely and Billie doesn’t stop frowning. “How did you even start talking, anyway?” 

And he tells the whole story over again, leaving out a few things this time, because Billie doesn't need to know about the way Emily fell asleep on his shoulder, or how patient Jess had been after the nightmare. He’s not sure how much good it does, though, because she still seems irritated after hearing all of it. Given what she thought he’d been doing, she might just be mad that she was wrong about something. 

“Now shoo,” he says, once he’s to the end of it. “Leave me in peace.” 

Montgomery helps herd Deirdre and Billie out, and he’s truly alone for the first time in days. He digs through one of the desk drawers, reaching past pens and notes and hag-pearls for the pack of Serkonan cigarettes. The real thing are hard to find on the black market and he can’t exactly go to a tobacconist that would keep them in stock, so he rations them carefully. Today, though, he feels like he can allow himself one. 

There’s a certain relief in Montgomery knowing what he’s doing now. If he has to stay at the Tower again, she can just tell everyone that needs to know where he is, which should make them more cooperative at least. He leans back, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. For all that he’s restless and wants to move (and needs to look at the stack of papers in front of him), he’s still sore and wants to go lie down again. He puts out the cigarette, thinking. 

His bed is miserable— hard, with a dip in the middle that’s shaped like him and a pillow that’s seen better days. He fluffs it as much as he can manage, wondering if he could find a way to get a better one and suddenly dismayed that it’s taken less than a week for bedding to reach the top of his list of concerns. 

Void.

* * *

Emily stands in the bedroom with a picture book, looking this way and that. 

“Gone?” she asks. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Jess closes her book on her finger, wondering what she’s talking about. 

“Daud,” she says. “Gone?” 

“Oh, yes. He went to his home.” Jess says it gently, hoping this won’t lead to tears because Emily seems so disappointed, holding _ A Mouse’s Tale. _ “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” 

She stands a moment longer, apparently thinking, then holds her book out. “Read. Mama?” 

“Of course.” Jess puts her own book aside and Emily climbs up beside her, tucking up under her arm as she flips to the title page. “Look at Mrs. Mouse, doesn't she have a lovely dress?”

* * *

Time passes. 

Daud keeps going to the Tower, even more often now that he doesn’t have to pretend to be doing something else, and Billie slowly warms up to the idea. Deirdre actually writes Jess a letter and they both seem excited when she replies, tearing into the envelope as soon as he hands it over. Rulfio delights in being insufferable when he’s sent out on _ Empress missions, _ as he calls them. 

“I’m an _ imperial agent,” _ he says, crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air. “You have to be nice to me.” 

That usually earns him a punch. “I’m taking this in the name of Her Majesty” always does.

Emily turns three and he has to struggle to find an acceptable present because she insists he wish her a happy birthday. She’s taken a sudden interest in horses, so he sends Leonid into a toy shop and she comes back with a red plush (chestnut, he’s told) with dark glass eyes and a white stripe running down its face. He hands Emily the box, wrapped in brown paper with a bow Montgomery insisted was necessary, and is very surprised to get a hug when she finds out what’s inside. 

“She’s been asking for a horse like that for a month,” Corvo says later, shoulders shaking as he laughs to himself. “Jess got her one like that too, but it’s black.” 

“Oh,” Daud says, suddenly disappointed and hoping Emily won’t feel the same way. 

“No, don’t worry, she can have a herd. She’ll love it,” Corvo says, and his face goes blank with a strange kind of fear when he realizes what he’s just said. “Oh no.” 

Daud pats him on the shoulder sympathetically, frowning when he flinches away. 

“I just got a new tattoo,” he explains. “I’ll show you later, if you want.” 

And Jess would find them about the time Corvo’s trying to crane his neck and look at his own back to see how the sparrows are healing up, despite Daud telling him they seem fine. They both try to explain, but she just shakes her head, turns on her heel, and walks away. Daud’s certain she was smiling, though. 

He’s able to gradually shift the Whalers’ income away from killing and toward the information trade, passing everything useful along to Jess. And it’s far from peaceful, but he’s _ happy. _

He should’ve known it couldn’t last. 

The letter looks like all the others in that day’s stack— it’s in a plain envelope and the wax sealing it shut hasn’t been stamped. The handwriting is brutally precise and looks like it came out of a cursive primer, marching ruler-straight across the page in a way that has Daud irritated before he even knows what it says. 

He has to read it three times before he can begin to get to grips with what he’s been _ ordered _ to do. 

Hiram Burrows knows where he lives. And he won’t hesitate to send in a contingent of Warfare Overseers armed with music boxes to murder every single Whaler they can find unless he agrees to kill Empress Jessamine Kaldwin and abduct Princess Emily, with explicit instructions to leave the Lord Protector alive. His reply is expected the next day. 

Daud wants to burn the letter but settles for pushing it away with shaking hands, a kind of sick terror he hasn’t felt in years gripping his lungs. He— he loves Jess, as much as he loves Montgomery, and Billie and Deirdre, Leonid, Thomas and all the rest, he just— he wouldn’t. He _ can’t. _

Does Burrows know— ? No, surely he doesn’t, he would’ve tried to leverage that somehow if he did. 

Daud forces himself to breathe. He’ll go talk to Jess, he still has the advantage. And Burrows may not know about the safehouses scattered across the city, he could send teams to make sure they’re still secure and then give an order to scatter. That would at least get the kids away, and he could stay behind with a token force to make the base look occupied. Then, if Burrows decided he wasn’t being cooperative enough, it would be much easier to evacuate. 

He lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag, trying to make himself think clearly. That would be a contingency plan. He needs to do something now. 

He reaches for a pen and paper, scratching out a reply that he agrees, though he has to take a moment to collect himself before he actually writes the words. He demands triple his usual rate on the grounds that Dunwall Tower would be difficult and dangerous to break into. That should give them some time— in his experience, no one likes paying extra for anything. Hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate, he folds the paper, stuffs it into an envelope, and tips a candle over it to seal it. After a moment’s consideration, he scrawls a _ B _ on the front. That should be clear enough. 

Then he grabs his coat, jamming Burrows’ letter into a pocket, and leaves for the Tower.

* * *

Jess leans into Corvo, sipping her wine— it’s a bit early for that, perhaps, but after a morning of paperwork followed by a frustrating meeting with High Overseer Campbell and a near shouting match with Burrows, she’s resolved to do no more work for the day. 

Corvo presses a kiss into her hair. “Any thoughts?” 

“Not a single one,” she says, taking another drink. “I’m just so tired, Emily kept waking up last night.” 

“I’m sorry,” Corvo murmurs. “I wish I could ever help.” 

“It’s alright. She usually goes right back to sleep.” 

“Still,” he says. “I hate not being able to.” 

And the years-old sadness she’s never quite been able to talk him out of is back in his voice, so she puts her glass on the coffee table and cradles his jaw, angling his face to kiss him. He sighs, splaying one hand against her back and pulling her closer until she’s halfway into his lap. She leans away just far enough to smile at him and say, “I love you.” 

He kisses the heel of her hand. “I love you too.” 

She tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and is about to start telling him that he’s enough, that Emily loves him, that he’s a good father— things that are true but he has trouble believing sometimes— but she’s interrupted by frantic knocking on the window. 

Daud’s crouched on the sill looking like the world is about to end, so she gets up to unlock the window for him. She doesn’t even have a chance to say hello or ask what’s gotten into him before he says, voice low and urgent, “You need to have Burrows arrested. _ Now.” _

“What for?” She’s almost surprised at herself for _ not _being surprised, but it truly isn’t that much of a shock. She just wonders what he’s done. 

Instead of replying, Daud pulls a paper from an inside pocket and hands it to her, then starts pacing in front of the fireplace, clenching and unclenching his fists. She frowns, thinking she’s never seen him this worried before and it almost looks strange on him, and unfolds the note to read it. When she finishes, there’s ice in her veins and a curdle of nausea working its way up her throat. She drops the thing on the table like it might sting and sits down beside Corvo, who’s glancing between her and Daud in growing confusion and alarm, poor dear. Evidently he decides neither of them is going to tell him what’s going on, so snatches the letter for himself, reads, and flings it back onto the coffee table, wrapping one arm tightly around her. 

They all stare at the note like it’s a particularly revolting specimen out of one of Sokolov’s jars. 

“What are you going to do?” Jess asks, her own voice sounding distant and strange, her mouth very dry. 

_ “Not that!” _ Daud snaps, all naked anxiety, looking almost afraid that she’s going to be angry at _ him. _ “I had to send something so I asked for more money, told him I wouldn't be able to break in here easily, I just hope that can buy us some time, I don’t know how long it takes to put someone like him in prison.” 

“Good.” She nods, trying to think. “Corvo, go with Daud to my office. I’ll find Captain Curnow.”

* * *

“Where do you want this?” Rulfio asks, panting after carrying the box up several flights of stairs. 

“Just put it with the rest.” Half the office is going to be taken over with boxes, Daud thinks, but he wants to move the files to their permanent homes himself; he’d never be able to find anything otherwise. Rulfio lets it slam to the floor with a bang and Daud frowns. “Is that necessary?” 

_ “You _ try carrying those things,” he says, trying to get his back to pop. “They’re heavy as fuck.” 

Daud just hums, contemplating his new desk’s drawer. It has little compartments built in and clearly means to force him to be more organized. He’s not sure how well that’s going to go. 

“Daud,” Corvo says, carefully maneuvering through the doorway with yet another box, “I think this one’s full of books, where should I put them?” 

“Other side,” he says, gesturing at the bookcase— he has a _ bookcase _now, like a proper upper-class twat, and heavy navy-blue drapes on the windows. He looks up to see if he still has a path to the door and glares. “Go away.” 

Sokolov crosses his arms. “Can I not come greet my new colleague?” 

“No.” He pretends to be busy examining the desk. 

“What a welcome,” Sokolov gripes. “I shudder to imagine how you treat your people.” 

“I treat them fine,” Daud fires back. “They aren’t annoying.” 

“You called me annoying half an hour ago,” Rulfio says, grinning. Daud throws a pen at his head, but he dodges and goes back to looking through the stuff with Billie.

“May I come in?” Jess says. “Or am I interrupting?” 

Sokolov hurriedly steps aside, trying to make it look like he wasn’t just needling Daud on purpose, and she steps inside holding some kind of vine-like plant in a pot. 

“Here,” she says, holding it out to him and smiling gently. “For decoration.” 

He takes it gingerly, a bit worried that it’ll suddenly die without warning. “Jess, this isn’t going to last a week.” 

“Oh, don’t be like that, it’ll be fine.” She takes it from him and sets it on the desk. “Make sure it gets plenty of light and give it water when it’s dry. It’s very tough, trust me.” 

“I just don’t think— Sokolov, _ get out!” _

He leaps back from the books, a bit like a startled cat, before puffing his chest up and drawing himself up to his full and unimpressive height. “Daud, I’ll have you know I expect better treatment from a former student.” 

Every head in the room swivels toward him. He could’ve heard a pin drop. 

_ “What?” _ There’s a kind of horrible glee in Billie’s voice, and she and Rulfio peer out from behind a stack of boxes looking like they’ve just won the damn lottery. “You’re not serious. _ Really?” _

“Yes.” Sokolov is very prim. “He dropped out of the Academy after one semester, but not before I painted his portrait.” 

“You mean,” Corvo says, trying very hard to keep a straight face, and oh, Daud _ hates _him just then, “it might still be kicking around somewhere?” 

“Presumably,” Sokolov says. Daud’s going to kill him. 

Rulfio starts to laugh— an ugly, loud guffaw that has him practically falling in the floor— and that’s just the last straw. 

_ “Out!” _ Daud shouts. “All of you, _ out!” _ He stalks toward Rulfio like he’s going to forcibly remove him, and that gets them all to leave, spilling out into the hallway and scattering to get out of range, still laughing 

Jess stays though, knowing he wasn’t talking to her. She adjusts the plant so that the pot isn’t crushing one of the leaves and leans on the edge of the desk. “So, what do you think?” she asks. “Will this one do or do you want the office down the hall?” 

“This one’s good.” And it is. The windows let in plenty of light, the bookcase is convenient, and while it does echo a bit, he can always bring in a rug. He even has a fireplace, and once all the boxes are gone he’ll have space to put a couch in front of it. 

“Do you think you’ll be happy here?” She sounds hesitant, a bit worried, but she’s been worried about this from the minute she suggested it, like it might somehow be the thing to convince Daud to go off to Serkonos or someplace else now that he can freely. 

But he won’t. No, after an investigation into Burrows’ conspiracy and a grueling series of trials that dragged on for months, half of Parliament is in prison and the other half is freshly terrified of their Empress, who isn’t the pushover they all thought. Burrows hadn’t even lasted a week in Coldridge before getting shanked to death by some Hatter with a grudge, which bizarrely made it easier for Jess to appoint Daud as Spymaster with a full pardon that no one wanted to argue with becuase they decided he’s a scary fuck that could easily land all of _ them _in jail as well. 

“I will be,” Daud says, and he knows it’s true. Dunwall’s found a kind of peace that might even last, and he has the chance to spend it with Jess and Corvo and Emily, who are just as much family to him as his Whalers, and who he loves just as fiercely. 

He has a chance to be happy, actually _ happy, _ and he’s not going to waste it.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
